


Secret Santa

by sullenhearts



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 13:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16854538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullenhearts/pseuds/sullenhearts
Summary: 2nd prompt for Christmas, this one was "2.	Character A’s best friend rigs the Secret Santa, because they know Character A has a crush on Character B." which again I didn't quite stick to, but hey.





	Secret Santa

**Author's Note:**

> 2nd prompt for Christmas, this one was "2. Character A’s best friend rigs the Secret Santa, because they know Character A has a crush on Character B." which again I didn't quite stick to, but hey.

The thing about Carlos was that he wasn’t that hard to buy for if you only knew him a little. He’d be happy with a book you liked, or some gin, or a vintage band t-shirt. He’d be grateful for presents like that, of course, he’d use them and wear them and get very merry drinking them, but whenever Peter had given him stuff like that he could tell they weren’t exactly perfect. The smile wouldn’t quite reach Carl’s eyes, it wouldn’t light up his whole face. 

Eliciting that smile was basically Peter’s whole reason for living currently. He couldn’t exactly say why it meant so much, except it did. 

Anyway, it was John’s stupid idea to do a Secret Santa. You could always rely on John to suggest something ridiculous. But never mind, everyone drew out pieces of paper from an ashtray. Peter’s said Carl on it. Which was great in one way but what in another because now he had to find something _perfect_.

They’d drawn names in the middle of November and now it was the 20th of December and Peter still hadn’t found THE perfect thing. He’d trailed round every shopping centre in an hour’s radius, and he was still no nearer to finding something. 

Christ, it was ridiculous. 

He just needed it to be _right_. 

They’d all arranged to swap gifts on the 23rd. John was having a party in his flat, the eleven of them who’d joined in the Secret Santa and no one else. Peter wasn’t actually sure John had any more friends. Carl told him not to be so mean. Peter had asked about Carl’s secret recipient, but Carl had just shaken his head and told him it was a secret.

He could just be that way sometimes.

And yet, there was just something about him. He was easy on the eye, obviously, but it wasn’t that – or wasn’t just that. Peter had never had a crush like this before. They’d kissed, a couple of times, filthily up against a wall while both drunk, they’d exchanged some fluids in the form of handjobs and blowjobs in pub toilets while doing lines, but nothing else and definitely nothing in their own flat. There it was like Carl was a different person. 

When they got to John’s the party was already going – music blaring from the speakers, laughter spilling on to the stairs, fairy lights twinkling from everywhere. John greeted them at the door. 

“Carlos.” A kiss on the cheek. “Peter.” And one for him too. Peter squeezed him. 

“Did you…” John said to Carl.

Carl nodded. 

“Excellent,” John said, laughing. 

Peter frowned, wanting to be in on the joke. 

“Never you mind,” John said. “Rum?”

“Break out the spice,” Carl said, going into the flat. He was looking particularly good tonight, cuffed jeans and his Doc Martens and white t-shirt tucked in to the jeans. Peter tried to not look. He failed. 

“Rum?” John said again, to Peter.

Peter stole the glass in his hand. “Cheers.”

John tutted at him but Peter ignored him and went into the flat. Everyone else was already there. Carl had made a beeline for Amy, which was typical. 

Fine, fine. Whatever. 

Peter necked the rum and then poured himself another. Carl tipped his head across the room and Peter found himself pouring one for him too. 

“Thanks,” Carl said when he took it over.

Amy had been talking but she shut up when Peter sat down. 

“Was it something I said?” Peter asked, trying not to feel offended. 

“Nah, darling,” she said. “Not at all.” She stood up, touched Peter’s shoulder on the way past and left them alone. 

“Well,” Peter said. 

“Well,” Carl said, and smiled.

“Were you talking about me?” Peter said, still rattled by Amy very literally closing her mouth when he came over. 

“No. No! Well. Kind of?”

“Right.”

“Nothing bad,” Carl said. “Nothing bad at all.”

“Carl,” Peter sighed.

“I got you,” Carl said. 

Peter didn’t understand. “Got me what?”

“I made John make it so I picked you.” Carl was picking at the hole in the knee of his jeans. “In the Secret Santa.”

Peter blinked at him. “Did you? Why?”

“You’ll see,” Carl said. “You’ll see.”

Well, that was intriguing. Peter kept blinking, but Carl said nothing else. 

Peter was aware of Carl’s thigh next to his. Very aware of Carl’s fingers which were totally inching towards Peter’s leg and which eventually came to rest between them. Very aware of Carl’s pretty face right next to his, and very aware of how Carl’s eyes kept flicking his face. 

Christ, Peter really wanted to kiss him. 

The party carried on around them. Amy came back and slipped on to Peter’s knee, her arms hooked around his neck. Carl got up for drinks. John came over to chat, pulling up a stool by Carl’s feet. Peter was definitely probably drunk. He didn’t like to stand up and test for sure. 

Then John said it was time for Secret Santa, and everyone hushed up and watched as John pulled over the basket everyone had put their gifts into. They made a motley arrangement; a couple were beautifully wrapped and one even had a bow. Peter had wrapped his in newspaper. He wasn’t sure which was Carl’s. 

Why had he made it so that he got Peter? Why had he wanted to draw Peter?

The boy made no sense. 

Amy’s gift was first. It was a tote bag with Poly Styrene lyrics stencilled on it; Peter quite wanted it himself. A couple of others came before John picked out Peter’s present for Carl. 

“It’s light,” John said. 

Peter didn’t move; if Carl didn’t know it was from him he wasn’t about to ruin the surprise. John passed it over. 

Carl unwrapped it slowly, trying to not rip the newspaper. “Stop looking at me,” he said to the room at large. Finally he was in. “It’s tea,” he said. 

He looked slightly confused, but turned the packet over. “Christ,” he said. “Really good tea.”

It was good tea – lots of loose leaves of a type that Peter had read about in the Observer and that Carl had said he’d love to try. Peter had sourced some in a shop in Chinatown. He sort of hoped Carl was going to share. 

Carl smiled that smile, his beautiful sunshine smile that lit up the entire fucking room. 

It was a good gift. 

John moved on, picking up the present that was for himself. Peter sort of lost focus then, zoning out of the conversations. Then it was the present from Carl. It was box shaped, and when Peter took it, it was quite light. 

“He already knows it’s from me,” Carl said. “Wait, will you? Open it later?” His eyes flicked to Peter’s. 

“Course,” Peter said, intrigued. 

This was getting curiouser and curiouser. 

The party ended in a haze of the extremely good hash John always managed to source from somewhere, and disbanded around 2.30am when Amy demanded an escort home. Carl and Peter walked her home then carried on to theirs. It was really cold – their breaths were ghosting in the clear air and cars they passed around had ferns of ice growing on their windscreens. Peter had zipped Carl’s present into his coat, and was desperately trying to think about what would be in a small cubed box. Especially since it didn’t weigh much. 

Carl stopped outside their building to light a cigarette.

“Only you could need your nicotine fix at 3am,” Peter complained, but though he stepped up one step towards their door, he didn’t go any further. 

“You can open it now,” Carl said. “Sorry, I just… I wanted it to be perfect for you.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “Thanks.” He drew the parcel out of his coat. 

Carl had found some red tissue paper somewhere, repurposed from the look of its wrinkles, and had tied it together with what looked like garden twine. It was green, so the whole thing was very festive. Peter tugged on the string and the tissue paper sprung apart from itself. 

The box itself was decorated with pretty flowers, pink maybe, against a black, lacquered background.

“Pretty box,” Peter said quietly. The street was so quiet that he felt like the silence might crack underneath him. He pulled the lid off the box carefully. 

“I… I really like you,” Carl said.

Peter looked at him. “Yeah?”

Carl drew on the cigarette and looked at the sky. “Yeah.” There was a long pause. “Christ, Peter, not everyone can wear their heart on their sleeves the way you do.”

“I don’t know why not,” Peter said reasonably. “It would make everything much simpler.”

Carl huffed a laugh, the smoke mixing with his breath on the air. “So I asked John to make it so I got you… So I could get you something special.”

“Thank you,” Peter said. 

“And then you got me tea, which is funny really…”

Peter had got the tight lid off and immediately saw what Carl meant. The box held a very beautiful teacup and saucer. Peter took it out and held it up to the light. Even in the dim streetlight he could see that it was painted with gold, in an intricate leaf pattern. It was so delicate. He wished he’d waited until they’d got inside now, in case he dropped it on the steps.

“It’s Noritake china,” Carl said. “It’s from Japan.”

Peter nodded. “I’ve heard of the brand.”

“D’you like it?”

“Of course I bloody like it,” Peter said. “It’s perfect.”

“Can I have a thank you kiss?” Carl said, his voice a tiny whisper.

Peter leaned across to kiss Carl’s cheek, but at the last moment Carl turned so that their lips met. 

Carl tasted of the cigarette and rum and the cold air. 

Peter felt more sober than he’d ever felt in his life. 

“Happy Christmas,” Carl said, and then reached for Peter’s gloved hand to pull him up the steps behind him.


End file.
